


Pictures in a Book

by scapeartist



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Book brotp, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:05:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapeartist/pseuds/scapeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle shares something with Emma and Killian that's been in the library all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off of Will finding a book in the library with a pop up of the Jolly Roger. A number of us believe that this is Killian's own storybook. I wanted to write a little Captain Book about how the book finally ends up in Killian's hands and what he finds there. Thanks for reading!

"Belle?! Belle, where are you?!" Killian called out as he and Emma burst through the front door of the library.

They looked about the lobby, wild eyed, Emma's hands starting to spark with magic as the chime above the door jangled its alert in the silent room. Their abrupt and loud entrance caused at least one patron to abandon his stack of books and rush past them and out the door. Killian could hardly blame the bloke; a harried looking Savior never boded well for the citizenry.

Killian's text from Belle read only " _Come to the library as soon as you can. You won't believe what's here."_  Given the quiet calm before him, Killian considered that maybe they had overreacted to her message. Probably would not be the last time, given Storybrooke's history of attracting any number of malcontents to its magical confines.

Belle popped up from where she'd been sitting behind the circulation desk. When she saw Killian and Emma, a wide grin brightened her face. She got up quickly, waving her hands in front of her to get them to slow down.

"I'm fine. Everything is fine!" she assured them.

"Then why the urgency, lass?" Killian asked, concern for his friend lingering in spite of her words. He couldn't help but scan her and the room for signs of danger she may have missed or might still be lurking about.

"Yeah, not like you aren't sitting on top of the dragon's lair over here. We thought something happened to you," Emma explained, slightly out of breath.

Belle laughed. "No, no. I'm sorry! I just wanted to  _show_  you something," she said and passed a book to Killian from behind the counter. "I… well, Will found it. I don't know how I could have missed it," she explained, a blush creeping across her cheeks at the mention of the thief. "You  _won't_  believe what's in there."

Emma raised her eyebrows at Belle's assessment of the book and shook her head. "I dunno, I believe all kinds of things these days. If I can wrap my head around a magic vacuuming hat, I'm pretty sure whatever is in this book can't be weirder than that."

Distracted, Killian turned the book over in his hands, not yet opening it. He knew there were several blank copies of the book safely stored in the Sorcerer's grand house, and then Henry's own book which was currently in Regina's possession. This was neither of those.

The leather was worn in spots, the gilding worn away here and there. It had definitely been handled and well read from the state of it. This was no new book, of that he was certain. An uneasy tightening of his chest and flutter in his belly warned him that this volume was more than it seemed. He hesitated to go further than inspecting its cover.

Emma elbowed him and he looked up at her as if remembering he was not alone.

"What's the matter?" she asked. He could tell by the tilt of her head and the narrowing of her eyes, she was trying to read him.

"Dunno, love," he answered, shaking his head slightly, a frown flickering across his lips. "I have an odd feeling is all."

Belle placed her hand on his forearm and gave it a squeeze.

"Go ahead," she said, smiling up at him.

"Very well."

Killian placed the book atop the circulation desk so Belle and Emma could stand on either side of him as he opened it. Emma wrapped her arm around his waist, while Belle rocked up on the balls of her feet for a closer view. Her excited anticipation was almost contagious.

From their days spent researching the solution to the magical hat problem, he'd figured out quite quickly how new books and new information were almost an addiction for her. He suspected she'd already gone through this volume cover-to-cover before she even called him. If what was in it were truly bad, he doubted Belle would have been so insistent he peruse it. Small comfort, but it was enough.

With a deep breath, Killian opened the book to a random page and was stunned to see a drawing of himself at the helm of the Jolly Roger. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breath quickened when he recognized the specific drawing.

"Wow!" Emma said, the awe apparent in her voice. "It's you… looking… dashing!"

Killian's fingers traced over the lines of the illustration, unable to smile at Emma's compliment. The simple sketch managed to capture him in his element—commanding the ship on the open sea, with nothing but adventure and riches awaiting him and his crew. He remembered that day clearly: endless blue skies, a merchant ship ripe for the picking on the horizon, an able-bodied crew, and a woman on deck, sheaf of drawing papers in hand, looking at him with love and admiration in her eyes. At that moment in his life, as far afield as he'd traveled from where he started with Liam, he'd been unexpectedly happy. That much was as plain as the picture in front of him.

Belle interrupted his reverie. "That's not the only one! Keep going!" she encouraged, starting to flip to the next page.

Both women on either side of him commented enthusiastically as they pored over all the drawings in this section of the book, but Killian could only stare and swallow thickly with the turn of each page and new illustration. There they were: the half of the crew lost in the Echo Caves of Neverland, others he'd lost to rival pirates or in battle...the Jolly Roger herself. Killian looked away and took a half a step back as Belle turned to the next chapter.

"This is where the artwork changes," she said.

"Aye," Killian knew why. The artist was dead by then.

Emma turned and looked at him closely again. He knew he wasn't able to disguise the pain in his eyes from her and didn't bother trying. This time in his life, his early piracy, was not something he was trying to keep from her—not that he could now, what with a book of his life in her hands—rather it was something he thought he had moved on from. In a way he had, but to  _see_  those drawings again...

Realization dawned on Emma and she looked at him inquisitively. "Milah?" she asked.

Killian could only nod as he tried to find an explanation for why they were there, but he couldn't.

Emma looked impressed. "She really was quite the artist. But how did those end up  _here_?" she asked, pointing to the pages in the book.

Belle was still trying to catch up on the conversation, puzzlement etched around her eyes and mouth as she began putting the pieces together. "Wait. You mean the pictures in this book were drawn by Milah… Rumple's first wife? The same woman who left him for you?"

"Aye, she had talent with paper and charcoal," he said. "Bae took after her in that respect."

"That still doesn't answer how her drawings got into this…  _your_  book. Do you think she knew the author?" Emma asked. He could tell she had her bail bondsperson thinking engaged, looking for leads, but he was dubious of any connection between Milah and the author.

"Unless he was disguised as a crewmember, doubtful," he sighed. "I've no idea how these ended up in here. I burned the lot of them after I… uh… turned Baelfire over to Pan. Couldn't bear to look at them any longer."

Belle looked deep in thought as Killian admitted to his capricious destruction of the drawings. She looked at him thoughtfully and asked, "You burned these while you were in Neverland?"

Killian nodded. "Aye, love. That's where I retreated to after she was murdered."

"Neverland  _is_  a place of powerful magic. Maybe burning them there was enough for them to wind up on these pages," Belle offered.

"Likely an answer as any, I suppose," Killian said. On the one hand, given Milah's effort and love of drawing, he was happy they weren't gone forever. On the other hand, he was tired of his past coming back to haunt him with such regularity. But with a lifespan as long and as eventful as his, he was starting to see the inevitability of such a thing happening. The thought was hardly reassuring.

Emma closed the book gently and took his hand. "Shall we check this out and you can read it to me later?" she asked.

Killian gave her a tremulous smile as Belle cut off any answer Killian may have given.

"Oh, I took it out of circulation. You can keep it. I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it being available to the general population," she said.

Releasing Emma's hand, Killian slid the book from the counter and tucked it under his hooked arm. He smiled at Belle and thanked her.

Emma filed out of the library ahead of Killian, but before he could leave the library himself, Belle called out to him.

"Killian, it's a great story you know. A hero's journey," she said, a sincere look in her eyes. "One of the best ones I've ever read."

Letting out the breath he'd been harboring since she handed him the book, Killian bowed. "Thanks, love."


	2. Words on a Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian still hasn't opened the book and Emma wants to know why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was going to be a one-shot. Apparently not. Not sure I'll be doing anything after this chapter, but I think I won't commit either way. I'll just have to see where my brain goes after this.

The day after Belle had given Killian his story book, it sat, still unopened, on the small table in his room at Granny’s. He’d yet to share it with Emma or even look through it himself—rather, he did his best to ignore it. He’d lived what was written on its pages, and he saw no purpose in reading about it at this point in his life. But whenever he returned to his room, he felt its presence like an anchor’s leaden chain tangled around his legs, dragging him down.

Needless to say, he wasn’t spending much time in his room.

Killian strolled into the library, a short stack of books he needed to return tied together and hanging from his hook. He dropped them off at the desk and then went in search of Belle. He found her shelving books from a nearby cart as she hummed to herself.

"Need some help, love?"

Belle startled, then laughed. "I really wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that, Killian. What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you today."

"I wasn't sneaking, love: you're distracted. I came to drop off those books I took out last week and maybe pick up more. I thought while I was here, I’d see if I could be of assistance."

She nodded toward the cart, and he handed her a couple of books. While she looked for their proper place on the shelf, she glanced at him.

“So, what did you think of your book?” she asked.

“It was very kind of you to give it to me,” Killian said with a forced smile.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Did you even _look_ at it?”

Instead of answering, Killian handed her a few books. “Has Will been by today?”

Belle placed the books on the shelf with a thump and put her hands on her hips. Looking at Killian suspiciously, she said, “Yes, he _has_. Not that it _really_ matters to you. Stop changing the topic, Killian. Why haven’t you looked at the book? I told you it was one of the best I’ve read.”

“Aye, lass. So you said.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Killian shrugged and shook his head. “Just busy is all.”  

“Right,” Belle said sounding unconvinced. “If it’s Emma you are worried about, you shouldn’t be. If _I_ can forgive you, I’m sure she can. For what, though, I haven’t the slightest… ” she trailed off with a frustrated huff and roll of her eyes. She grabbed the discarded books and began shelving again.

Killian absently picked up another few books and held them out to Belle. Emma wasn’t the only reason he was reluctant to read the book. Until very recently, so much of his past wasn’t just painful—it was shameful. He’d moved on from his revenge and put Milah firmly in his past where she belonged. He could even talk about Liam without getting choked up or angry, but it didn’t change the fact that written in a book for the world to see, were all the things that Killian Jones would prefer be left to legend.

****  


* * *

****  


Emma stood in his room, her fingers tracing over the embossed leather cover, occasionally raising a corner as if to open it fully, but then letting it drop again. They’d been out to dinner earlier and she had walked him back to his room, then invited herself in. He was delighted until the book drew her attention, and he realized her intentions. He'd begged off showing it to her last night—his flimsy excuse being exhaustion after their race to the library in the first place. He could tell she was humoring him then, but her patience was obviously waning. He could see the raw curiosity warring with her desire not to push him, and he was grateful for it. But it would only last so long. Belle had read the blasted thing, and he was positive Emma would figure _that_ out. It would not be fair to keep the book or his past from her when other people had already had a gander. The book was worn. Odds were _many_ people were familiar with his story.

Hand resting on the book and fingers drumming over it, Emma glanced over at Killian, who stood stiffly in the center of the room watching her.

“Don’t I get a bedtime story tonight?” she asked. Her attempt at innocence vanished with her slow caress of the aged cover.

Killian sidled over to her, his wariness evaporating with the opportunity for distraction she presented. Diversionary tactics were a specialty of his, after all, and she made an enticing opponent. He stepped close, barely space for a breath between them, and reached down, taking her hand in his. He kissed her knuckles before leading her away from the table towards the bed. She glanced back at the book, a fleeting twinge of disappointment on her face before he pulled her closer to him, his hook in her belt loop.

“Aye, a story you shall have, love, but not out of some mouldering tome,” he said, turning her around and blocking her view of the book..

“But—” Emma started, a pleading look on her face.

Killian released her hand and placed a finger over her lips. “Sshhh.” He walked her back against the bed until her legs hit the mattress edge and she sat down with a gentle thud. Killian smiled down at her and pushed her hair over her shoulder with his hook.

Emma crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “This isn’t going to be in pantomime is it?”

Laughing, Killian answered, “Certainly not. Panting, perhaps. Miming, no.”

An incredulous snort escaped Emma. She shook her head and said, “Get on with it then. I came here for a story. Not leaving without one.”

“As you wish,” he said with a deep bow.

Emma’s mirthful smile faded to lust as Killian leaned over and lifted her legs, one at a time, to remove her boots. He gently guided Emma back onto the bed and gathered her in his arms. He kissed her temple, then her nose, and moved to her mouth with the softest touch. Emma sighed and he could feel her become almost boneless under his hand.

Killian began spinning his yarn, in between kisses, caresses, and strokes that left them both wanting more. He told her of a broken man, lost at sea, who’d given up on weathering the constant storms in his path.

Peeling the clothes from Emma’s deliciously responsive body, Killian hastily removed his own so he could feel every tremble and wave of desire from her while he recounted the day this reckless man met a quick-witted and determined woman on a hero’s journey.

Emma writhed beneath Killian, not-so-subtly encouraging him to use his mouth for other purposes as she interrupted him with a kiss that almost made him forget he was giving her what she asked for—his story. Well, the part of it he thought was the most important. Her breast filled his hand, her nipple peaked under his thumb, but he continued with his saga as he kissed down the length of her torso.

He slid one finger, then a second, in and out of Emma’s wetness, making her groan while he explained how this man and the woman fought and outwitted each other for a time, until one day, the man realized self-destruction was overrated. Emma laughed at his pronouncement, and Killian worked his way back up to her, kissing the sound from her mouth until she moaned, and he needed to feel all of her. She wrapped her legs around him and he slid into her heat, telling her how the brilliant, beautiful, and beguiling woman, who challenged the man at every turn, reminded him of who he used to and wanted to be again.

Killian stopped talking for a moment to catch his breath, only to lose it again in Emma’s urgent kisses. Balancing on his forearms, he slowed down his tempo and whispered in her ear.

“So the man set about worshipping that lass every day in the only way he knew how. He never left her side, and she was kind enough to let him stay there.”

Emma lunged up to kiss him, one hand anchored in his hair, and the other splayed over his jaw. Her leg pressed on his flank, urging him into a pace he was more than ready to take on.

“Oh, God, Killian,” Emma cried, breathless as she clutched him close. She arched to accept his thrusts deeper, squeezing him firmly from within as her sensitive walls pulsed, and he could barely maintain his rhythm, the feel of her was so intense. “Do they live happily ever after?” she asked, her question broken and hopeful at the same time.

He buried himself deep within her, once, twice more, saying  “Aye, love, they do.”

“Good,” she said, capturing his lips with her own as they both crested and crashed.

They held each other, Killian still whispering words of adoration into her skin for her to recall later. He opened his eyes to a reality that was leagues better than any story he could have made up.  

“That was...epic,” Emma said, her breath quick and shallow. She took a deep, leveling breath, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair with a satisfied grin.

“I _did_ warn you about the panting,” he teased as he pulled out of her and lay beside her, propped up on an elbow. He loved to watch her come down after they made love. It never failed to make him feel a contentment he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before.

Emma laughed. “That you did.” She pulled the blanket up over them both and gazed at him. “Not that I'm complaining, but I know what you were trying to do,” she said.

“What’s that, love?”

“Distract me from your book. Why?”

Killian rolled over on to his back to look at the ceiling rather than at the hurt he would no doubt see in her eyes if she pursued this line of questioning. “I’m not trying to hide my past from you if that’s what you think.”

“It’s not.”

Killian ran his hand over his face and plucked at the whiskers under his lip. He struggled to put into words what he'd been trying not to ruminate on since he cracked open that bloody book yesterday. Avoiding not just these conversations but the feelings the book evoked in him was pointless and he knew it. A coward, he was not. 

He let out a breath and the words followed haltingly behind. “Truth is, I’m not ready to face it myself. Seeing those drawings of Milah’s… it’s more than just words on a page, love. It’s my _life_. My many, many mistakes. My cruelty. My vengeance.”

Emma sat up and placed one hand on his chest for balance as the other guided his face so she could look into his eyes. She smiled sympathetically and said, “And your love, your devotion, and your loyalty. From what I do know about you, Killian Jones, those things are there as well. They have to be. It couldn’t be a story about you without them.”

Before Killian could respond—not that he thought he could in his speechless state—Emma slid out of bed and hurried over to retrieve the book, holding it close to her still bare chest as she returned and hopped back into bed.

“Sit up,” she commanded.

“Emma, I—”

Emma held up her hand, silencing him. She leaned against his shoulder so he couldn’t turn from her.

“Shh. Listen to me.” She opened the book to the back where there were still some empty pages and pointed to them. “See these?”

“Aye. They’re blank.”

“That’s right. _These_ are the pages I really care about.” She shook the heavy section of pages on the left. “This is your past. Without it, we wouldn’t be here, together, you and me. So, yeah, I want to know about it, but not as much as I want to know what happens in the sequel.”

Killian let out a deep breath. He cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her gently on the lips. “Thank you, love.”

Emma handed him the closed book. “It would be an honor to know your story,” she said.

“Very well. But Emma,” he cautioned.

“Yeah?”

“Not tonight. I want to read this first. By myself. I don’t want to be surprised like I was with Milah’s drawings.”

“Fair enough. When you are ready,” she said. Emma plucked the book from his hand and dropped it to the floor. Then she moved to straddle Killian, her hands on his shoulders as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “How about, in the meantime, I tell _you_ a bedtime story?”

Running his hand up Emma’s back to slide into her hair, Killian asked, “Will there be panting?”

“Hmmmm… perhaps,” she said, feigning a look of deep thought before kissing him.

Killian smiled, breaking off the kiss. “Sounds like my kind of tale,” he said.


	3. [His]Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian finally sits down with his book (and eventually Emma), and then later he meets up with Belle for an abbreviated book club meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of Pictures in a Book. Sorry for the long delay! I hope you like where this ends off. Please keep in mind, it falls somewhere in season 4b before Rumple returns.

The next morning, Killian rose early and eased himself from Emma’s warmth. They had spent the night entwined, Emma regaling him with her own story using fingers, lips, tongue, and body in a far better rendition than he’d managed. He knew, without question, hers was a more favorable telling than what lay within the pages of “his” book, as Emma continued to refer to it. If only _he’d_ been a better author of his own story.  

But as complicated as his feelings were about his past, Emma was right. Every bad choice and tragic moment made him who he was today. Lead him to her. To them. _That_ he would not rewrite for anything—not even the demise of the Dark One at his own hand.

When Belle handed him the book the other day, he wasn’t prepared to find out what some unknown author’s interpretation was of his life, or of his deeds born from vengeance and a loneliness larger and deeper than any sea in any realm. And after seeing Milah’s drawings, he wondered what other “surprises” lay in wait within the pages of the book. Today was a new day, thankfully. A day when Emma Swan considered him a good man and wanted him with her, regardless of his past, and that was something no book attesting to his wretched history would ever change.

He dressed, placed the book in his satchel, and headed down to Granny’s to appropriate some breakfast to leave for Emma. It was the least he could do since he would not be there when she awoke. She was still sleeping soundly—hair a wild tangle across both their pillows and a light snore escaping parted lips—when he returned with hot coffee and a sweet. He left them both and a note, telling her where he could be found, then kissed her temple before slipping out the door, his satchel slung over his shoulder.

The early morning air was brisk, his breath visible with each long stride he took toward the docks, but the coffee cup in his hand was warm, a reminder that the cold did not have to be pervasive. He nodded amiably to the handful of people he encountered along the way, and they greeted him warmly in return. That was new.

The sun was creeping up from the horizon, its rosy glow shifting into something bright and clear the closer he got to his destination. He found a bench not far from where he used to moor the _Jolly Roger_ , skimmed the light condensation of morning from its weathered, wooden slats, and sat looking out at the calm waters of the harbor.

Killian may not have been quite ready to share his book with Emma, but his story was just as much about the many seas he sailed upon as it was about him. Treacherous and unpredictable as those seas were, the fact remained that there was nothing in this or any other world Killian was more connected to. Not even Emma. Reading at the water’s edge seemed only right.

“Might as well get on with it,” he mumbled to himself.

Placing his coffee cup beside him on the bench, Killian removed the well-worn satchel from over his shoulder and slid the book out until it rested upon his lap. He ran his fingers over the soft brown leather of the cover—so much like Henry’s book—and opened it. The end papers were dotted with stars arranged into constellations both familiar and unknown. He’d have to see if Belle had star charts for this realm he could borrow to compare them with the formations on these pages. Perhaps coming here had always been his fate.

He skipped over the first few pages until he reached the opening chapter, marked by an illustration of his boyhood home. The seaside town where he’d spent his early youth was the prize of the kingdom—its harbor bustling with merchant ships and Royal Navy vessels alike, as well as a booming fishing industry. There was never any question, even as a child, that he would live and die upon those waters, serving it and the kingdom in some way. It was expected of most of the men and lads who lived there, but for Killian, it was welcome, too. He was not one of those children who railed against the thought of following the path set before him. He was going to follow it wherever it lead, no matter how far from home. Or how far from his own time, it seemed.

The day warmed, even as his coffee chilled, while Killian read his story—or this version of it. Even with time and distance, the pain was no less sharp at the loss of his parents, Liam, Milah, and later Baelfire, due to his own battered ego. The writer was deft with his or her words, translating Killian’s anguish with an accuracy that reopened wounds he’d thought long healed. He paused more than once to put the book aside and stare out at the ocean, collecting his thoughts and sorting his feelings.

After Milah's chapter, he felt the desire for vengeance against The Dark One rise like bile from a sour stomach once more, only to be tamped down a moment later when something in an illustration reminded him of Emma… _a shade of green to match her eyes_. He knew implicitly he could not fully love her _and_ be consumed by hate at the same time, and it was that thought that kept him from losing himself in his rage anew.

“Bloody Crocodile,” he bit out under his breath. It was a curse he’d uttered more times than he cared to count.

Still, he hoped to never see that scaly bastard in this or any other lifetime. He’d be damned if he was made an instrument of Rumplestiltskin’s machinations ever again, that was for certain. But if his thoughts could turn to vengeance again so swiftly, the temptation to slide into darkness was still too near for Killian’s liking. He feared what he might be pushed to do to protect Emma and their relationship if the Crocodile reappeared and continued to threaten Emma. With a hefty dose of luck, Killian may never have to worry about it. Yet the idea niggled in the back of his head. Rumplestiltskin was not one to just… cede his power. He'd always known that, but now everyone else did, too. Killian sighed and returned to his story, pushing his misgivings from his mind as he approached what he assumed would be his one of his favorite parts of the book.

Killian reached the chapter when he and Emma initially crossed paths, and over the next few pages, he finally recognized something he was too blind to see at the time. All his plans for a long overdue confrontation with The Dark One, most likely followed by his own imminent death, began crumbling to pieces in earnest the moment Emma Swan held a knife to his throat. He could see how desperately he’d clung to his revenge, even as it slipped away in favor of something he never expected: a chance at life. Perhaps even a happy one. He’d been so blind and untrusting at the time. That he’d ever turned himself around still felt a bit of a miracle to him.  

Flipping the page, Killian was greeted with a cut out of the _Jolly Roger_ and a light house popping up from the page.

"Would you look at that!?" he said to himself.

This was another shift in artwork in the book, and he was surprised by it. It was nothing like previous chapters—even the ones without Milah’s drawings. The next page held a tab that when pulled, sent the Jolly Roger, and her tiny guests, into the open portal to Pan's realm in Neverland. He wondered if the new style had anything to do with the fact that the chapter he had just begun was that of the start of the trip to Neverland to save Henry. There was a childlike whimsy to it that masked the complex construction it took to engineer such a feature, just as Neverland was not simply full of children, nor Henry a typical child himself.

A hand rested on his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. He looked up into Emma's smiling face as she leaned down to kiss him. He hadn’t heard her coming. She peered over his shoulder at the book.

"Did I miss story time?" she asked, nodding at the open book.

"Hardly. Come sit, Swan." Killian scooted over to make room on the bench.

Emma sat next to him, wrapping her arms around his left, and propping her chin on his shoulder.

"You ok?"

Killian smiled at her and nodded. "Aye, love. I'm fine." He was now, anyway. He'd begun wishing she were with him several chapters ago.

"So your trip down memory lane hasn't been too traumatizing?"

Her concern was touching. He shrugged. "No more than expected, I suppose. Luckily not every waking moment of my life is in here. Otherwise it might have been a ten-volume set. There have been some pleasant surprises along the way, though. Look."

Killian turned back a page to show her the standing _Jolly Roger_.

Emma grinned and squeezed his arm. "I used to love pop up books as a child! When I was able to lay my hands on a whole one, that is. Most of the places I lived in either didn't have many books, or the ones they did have were pretty much destroyed." She pushed the ship flat only to have it return upright upon release.

"Hey, watch it now," Killian admonished. "You can't go around toying with a man's ship that way. You might break it."

Emma rolled her eyes and laughed. "Aye, aye, Captain. Didn’t hear you complaining last night,” she mumbled.

Killian tsked then kissed Emma’s forehead. "You got here just in time, love. I've just reached the the part where you lie to me.”

Emma looked confused. “Lie to you? When?”

“When you told me that our first kiss was, and I quote, ‘a one time thing.’”

“I didn’t lie. I just… underestimated.”

“Umm hmmm,” Killian nodded slowly, looking at her with a smug smile.

Emma smacked his arm. “Keep it up, buddy, and there won’t be any more kisses to complain about.”

“Not complaining about the kiss, Swan. It was… “

“Obviously something _you_ couldn’t handle. I bet even the book says it,” Emma interrupted.

“Think so, do you?” Killian asked, his eyebrow raised.

Emma mirrored his raised eyebrow in return.

“Well, I don’t need a book to tell me that, darling. But shall we check anyway?” he asked.

Nodding, Emma said, “I’d like that. Are you sure you are ready for me to read this?”

Killian slid the book onto Emma’s lap, giving her control over his story.

“Turns out it’s nothing you don’t already know, love. I’ve always been an open book to you.”

 

* * *

 

Killian parted ways with Emma at the Library. She was on her way back to her parents’ loft to meet Henry after school, book in hand, and he promised to meet her there shortly. They’d spent some time perusing his storybook, him showing her some of the highlights—and lowlights—offering explanations where he thought she might need it, or answering her questions. Though she didn’t have many yet. It felt good to share his story with her after all, and he felt a bit sheepish over his resistance in the first place.

He knew Belle would want to know he’d finally read the book, so he decided to stop in while he had the chance. Killian found her hunched over in her chair, a bluish glow illuminating her face as she stared into that magic box she insisted had as much information as any of the books in her library. He took her word for it, but didn’t trust it all the same.

“Afternoon, Belle,” he said, leaning on the circulation desk.

“Killian! Were we meeting today?” she asked, looking flustered. “I lose track of time when I get on this thing… ” she explained as she got up out of her chair and came around the desk to face him.

“No, love, we weren’t meeting. I just wanted to come by and thank you again for giving me that book.”

Belle gave him a knowing smile. “You read it finally.”

“Aye, I did.”

“Well? Tell me what you thought!” she demanded, her excitement barely contained.

Killian half-smiled, shaking his head. “It was… not as bad as I thought it would be, and thankfully much shorter than it could have been.”

“Really? That’s it? Come on, Killian. What did you _really_ think of it?”

Fidgeting with his rings while he thought, Killian tried to put into words what it meant to have a book such as this to share with others, with family and friends.

"I suppose I'm glad there is a record of my life that is not just fearful whispers in taverns and back alleys warning of a vengeful and ruthless pirate."

"It is an incredible story, Killian."

He looked into Belle's eyes, and said, "Aye, and I’m sorry for dragging you into it."

Belle nodded. "I know. And I'm sorry you felt like you had to. But you do see that your story is more than the horrible things you've done?"

Killian glanced away and said nothing.

With a sigh, Belle reached out and put her hand on his arm. "Killian, yours is not _just_ some... swashbuckling high seas adventure or even a love story. It's a story of _redemption_. Granted it may still be in progress, but what you've done with your life is inspiring, not some cautionary tale."

Killian remained dubious. "It's not over yet. Who's to say what it will be?"

Belle laughed. "I've read more books than I can count. I think you can trust me when I remind you, yours is _truly_ a hero's journey."

Killian gave his thanks in the form of a tight smile. He wanted to believe Belle. More than anything. But the mantle of "hero" was not something he was comfortable wearing—not since he set out with Liam all those lifetimes ago and failed. Emma had called him a hero, and he'd brushed it off in favor of atonement. He wasn't sure he'd ever see himself as anything other than a man standing on the edge of an unstable cliff, ready to fall to his death over some misstep or other.

But it was nice to know there were those who saw him as something more. He would do his best to live up to their belief in him, and maybe one day, he would believe, too.


End file.
